Port Hastings, Washington March 7, 1891
She appeared out of a driving rain, a spirit of the storm, clutching the skirts of her billowing white wedding dress in her hands and running for all she was worth. A circlet of bedraggled flowers graced her dark hair, which hung in sodden ropes to her waist. Her gown was most definitely ruined, and her dainty slippers were muddy and wet. Quinn Rafferty stood fascinated on the platform of his private railroad car, heedless of the rain and the keening of the train whistle that signaled imminent departure. The nymph had gained the tracks now and was charging toward...